


The Tomb

by TurtleNovas



Series: Aranlyde/Nasilovat Legacies [9]
Category: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: M/M, OC: Lyoshka, OC: Vasiliy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleNovas/pseuds/TurtleNovas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vasiliy finds that Aleksei is not nearly as dead as he'd been lead to believe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tomb

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Family

They were getting close. He could feel the dark energy itching over his skin like a thousand tiny creepers legging their way across his body. There was a feeling of sick curling in his gut, and his skin was clammy, a fire burning inside of him, despite the chill of the air. Darth Baras had said that the corpse of a great dark lord was laid to rest here, and now, Vasiliy knew it to be true. It was exhilarating.

"Finished!” Vette's voice rang out over the deep rumble of the switch's mechanisms turning. “If I'm remembering right, there's one more after this one."

He turned to his companion, annoyed at the distraction from his thoughts, but glad to be making progress. “Alright," he said. "Let's continue."

They moved slowly, deliberately, cautious of the unsavory things lurking in the shadows. Already they had slain six other acolytes, and a single, mad beast. Vasiliy used the Force to mask the sound of their progress, and to draw the shadows longer around them as they went, hiding them from any wandering eyes. Still, he felt a thrill of fear. His heart raced, and he drew quick breath, body pulled tight as a coil and ready to spring at a moment's notice. The fear made him strong.

There was light now, flooding into the narrow passageway they occupied, and he slowed his step even further, casting out with the Force to identify any threat in the next cavern. He could smell blood, thick in the air, and fresh, but could sense no living presence. He signaled to Vette, and they continued moving.

The room was well lit, a bright, purple-white light bathing the cold stones in an eerie glow. He ventured further into the open, signaling for Vette to remain hidden as he investigated. It was a large room, with several imposing statues situated along the walls, and another directly center. There were three corpses laid out near the entrance to the far hall (the source of the smell, he presumed). The air was noticeably warmer, as well, the dark aura he'd been sensing curling around him, a miasma of threatening energy. He could see no direct source of danger, though, and turned to signal Vette to enter.

In an instant, his muscles seized, pain rendering him immobile for a sudden, inescapable moment. It was the bright-hot shock of Force lightning, and he staggered on tingling legs as he turned to meet his assailant, blade drawn. Behind him, Vette gave a surprised shout, and then he could see the red-orange glow of her blaster shots ricocheting around the room.

It took him only a moment to find the direction of his assailant, but it was long enough for the sharp tip of a practice sword to drive into his side, cutting with the clean ease of a metal knife. He was blinded, crippled with an agony he'd never felt before. It was strange, he thought vaguely, that he'd never experienced this sting without the immediate cauterizing burn of a vibroblade. The sound of his blood splattering over the stone floor broke through his reverie. Time passed slowly now, his thoughts coming and going, spurring him to action in the interval it took Vette to fire a single shot. Through sheer strength of will, he raised his fist to beat back his opponent, unable to gain enough space between them to use his own weapon. He opened his eyes, which had fallen shut in the meantime, and forced his vision into focus.

He froze again, fingers going limp around the hilt of his sword. The sound of it falling from his grasp was loud, echoing off the hard stone walls and mingling with the harsh noise of Vette's blasters. Recognition hammered through him, a torrent of emotion pulling the breath from his lungs, preventing him from taking in more, and his physical pain seemed only a phantom in its wake. "Lyoshka?"

The Sith before him stood unmoving, hands clenched on the hilt of the blade that was still lodged deep in Vasiliy's side. His eyes were wide, face pale and gaunt, smudged with dirt and blood, and painted with a shock that mirrored Vasiliy's own. There was no doubt as to his identity. Where time had slowed before, it seemed to stop completely now.

"Vasya..." His voice was rough, sounding as though it had been taken from him, raked over a bed of hot coals, and then returned. It made the sick knot that had settled in Vasiliy's gut twist, heat blossoming and calling up long forgotten feelings of pleasantness and more enjoyable passions than pain, and anger, and fear. There was no other recourse but to kiss him.

The movement jostled Lyoshka's weapon hand, in turn causing the blade itself to shift in Vasiliy's side. The pain of it was immense. Both of their mouths tasted of blood and death, and it was all he could do to grasp weakly at the ratty cloth of Lyoshka's robe to keep himself from toppling over as he leaned down. Lyoshka met him, though, mouth gentle and warm, and familiar – too intoxicating to pull away, no matter the pain it caused.

A bright bolt of blaster fire cut the air, close enough to Lyoshka's face to leave smoke curling over his ear. On instinct, Vasiliy pulled him closer, crushing their bodies together and covering his head in an attempt to shield him. The blade in his side moved with them, pushing through him until he was truly impaled, and he nearly buckled under the fresh wave of torment. Vette fired again, and it grazed his arm.

"Damn it woman, stop firing!" His voice was weak with his pain, but the force of his rage was enough to draw her attention nonetheless.

"But he stabbed you!" Vette was panicking, her own voice climbing an entire octave as she took aim again, gaze focused on the sword lodged in his side.

"I don't fucking care what he did, put your blasters away or so help me I will tear you limb from limb and you will rot forever in this forsaken dead-man's hovel!" His tone was edged with hysteria, and it was a hard won battle not to waver as he turned toward her, gritting his teeth as the blade came out of him with a fresh spill of blood and slipped from Lyoshka's limp grasp. He felt dizzy, the world turning hazy around the edges as he glared at her, but he held firm, daring her to challenge him. Lyoshka stood silently behind him. He would not call attention to Vasiliy's current weakness by interfering.

"Okay!” she yelled, after a long moment. “Okay. Don't flip out, I'm putting them away." She holstered the blasters slowly, holding her arms up in mock surrender when they were away. "Jeez, you'd think he hadn't just tried to kill you."

Vasiliy scowled, his control rapidly escaping him. There was an undercurrent of the Force in his voice when he said, "You are trying my patience."

She dropped her arms to her sides like they were weighted, face turning completely impassive. "Right. How about I just go over here and work on activating this last switch while you and you're failed murderer slash new best friend catch up? Sound good?" He could only nod, as the world around him began to sway. "Okay, good. Just, you know, don't die..." There was genuine worry in her face, but she turned away quickly, moving toward a statue on the far side of the room.

Lyoshka was at his side then, hand pressing hard and unrelenting into the gaping hole his blade had left. Vasiliy groaned, tendrils of white blindness slithering into the edges of his vision, and sank to his knees, dragging Lyoshka down with him.

"Easy now." It was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough for Vasiliy. It had been more than a year since he'd heard that voice. He'd thought he would never hear it again. "I didn't hit any of your goodies, but you've lost a fair bit of blood."

Vasiliy couldn't help but smile at that, falling back into a sit as Lyoshka murmured an apology. "I thought you were dead." He put his own hand over Lyoshka's, felt his blood seeping between both their fingers, hot and thick. "They told me you were dead."

Lyoshka's eyes were soft, but his voice was as hard as his blade. "I am dead."

"But, you're here." Perhaps it was the pain, or the loss of blood, but, in that moment, his confusion seemed an insurmountable obstacle. He reached with his other hand to touch Lyoshka's face, and it was warm under his fingers. "You're here, and you're not dead...but you are?"

Lyoshka sighed, dipping his head into the touch, even as he set to work drawing the Force through Vasiliy's wound, stemming the flow of the blood, forcing the flesh to knit together again, crudely. It was a trick from their childhood, learned on a hot summer night, when the play had gotten too rough and they'd strayed too far from parents' watchful eyes; something Vasiliy had never been able to master himself. "Listen to me," There was urgency in Lyoshka's tone, even as his touch remained steady. "I am dead, and I must stay that way. You know of what happened to my family. You know _why_. No traitor to the Empire is suffered to live, and any traitor places the black mark of it upon their entire family."

He looked away, face drawn sharply to scorn. "So I killed us, set our home ablaze, and left it in ruins. When it was done, I heard of a transport bound for Korriban. Former slaves, all force sensitive, coming to be put through the trials. I killed one and took up his identity. I had no other choice. Better a slave with the will to seize power than the son of a traitor."

Vasiliy's stomach dropped, relief and turmoil coiling together in a gross, heavy mass. It had been his father who'd told him of the whole affair. He'd already been on Korriban for months at that point, having been called to the Academy early by that meddling fool, Tremel. His father had sent word by mail (hadn't even had the decency to call or send a holorecording). Lyoshka's entire family had been slaughtered as punishment for his mother's betrayal. Vasiliy had not had the stomach to ask for further details, had been paralyzed by his anguish for days before he'd been able to harness it as power. Even now, staring into Lyoshka's _very alive_ face, he felt the sorrow of that day clawing up his throat. He wished for nothing more fervently than for it to be a passion he would never again be able to draw upon.

"My father is the one who was to reveal her betrayal." Vasiliy's stomach turned, and he thought he might vomit.

"Yes." Lyoshka met his gaze again, and anger flared in his eyes, but the blame held there was not for Vasiliy. "That's why I had to kill them myself. It was the only way to ensure my own survival."

Vasiliy nodded weakly, drew his hand to Lyoshka's neck, thumb at his pulse. "Your family has already paid for their betrayal. Mine will as well. Your suffering will not go unavenged."

Lyoshka smiled then, a grim line on a face etched with the ghosts of his torment. "First thing's first though, we have to get both of us off this foul planet." He sighed and sat back, taking his hand from Vasiliy's side. "This is the best I can do. Do you have stims with you?"

"The Twi'lek has them."

Lyoshka gave him a fond, exasperated look, as if to ask him what he was thinking giving them to the slave, and turned away. "Twi'lek! Bring me your stims."

Vette paused, but didn't turn, her voice petulant as she said, "Why should I? And I have a name, you know!"

Lyoshka scowled, and Vasiliy could feel the anger rising off of him. His quick temper, it seemed, had become even quicker. "I care not for your name, slave! Bring me the stims now, or know that I will show you what it is to suffer. Clearly, your master has been far to generous with you."

Vasiliy couldn't help but chuckle as Vette huffed and retrieved her satchel. "Please, Darling, try not to scare her. I'm attempting to cultivate some loyalty in her."

"Yes well, cultivate your loyalty sometime when I'm not sitting here watching you suffer from wounds I mistakenly inflicted."

Vasiliy watched as Lyoshka snatched the satchel from Vette's hands, baring his teeth at her menacingly as he did so. She wouldn't realize the gravity of the warning, but it stirred a thrill of worry in his chest to see.  It seemed Lyoshka's temper burned more fervently in the wake of his trauma as well as being more quickly ignited.

A moment later, there was a needle pressed into his thigh, and a sudden rush of warmth spread over him, robbing him of his thoughts and his balance. He had to lean against the base of the center statue to remain steady against it, head resting on his bent knees.

It was not long before his pain ebbed completely under the effects of the drugs. He knew that the fix was temporary, but it would last him until he was able to complete his task. He sighed in relief as he stood, Lyoshka hovering by his side in an angry parody of a mother bird.

They would both have to continue on soon enough, each going their separate ways to avoid rousing suspicions of Lyoshka's identity. It was a fact that hung heavy between them, and which neither wished to address, so instead Vasiliy simply pulled Lyoshka into a tight embrace breathing deep of his scent and pressing a kiss and a whisper into his temple. "Stay safe. I lost you once, and I refuse to endure it again. When you complete your trials, contact me."

Lyoshka nodded, and pulled away. "Teach your slave some manners, she's a bloody nightmare." Then he'd pressed a quick kiss into Vasiliy's laughing mouth and turned to leave, the shadows of the far corridor swallowing him quickly and completely.

Vasiliy stared after him for a long moment, the sick heat returning to his gut, but tempered now with the fire of determination. He had purpose, where before there had been none, and he would not waste another moment.

"Vette! How much longer?" He turned to where she was working, tone impatient.

"A few minutes! This isn't exactly the kind of switch that you just have to push a button to activate, you know. Plus your creepy friend was distracting!"

Vasiliy sighed. Lyoshka was right. This one had far too much fire for a slave. "I understand. Just be quick."

-

Later, when the fool Vemrin lay dead in the tomb (slain with pathetic ease, particularly considering Vasiliy's injury), and Naga Sadow's lightsaber was firmly in Vasiliy's possession, they stopped to rest again. There was silence between them, as Vasiliy drew upon the dark energies of the tomb to revitalize himself. He was weak, and tired, his already scarring wound a constant, dull ache in his side. He would not truly be at peak again until he could seek real medical attention, but he would return victorious nevertheless. And in his victory, he would find Lyoshka again, alive and well, and still very much himself, despite the raw, fractured edges of his sanity. Together they would forge ahead, carving a path towards vengeance, and it would be a beautiful legacy. It would be _their_ legacy.

He smiled.

Beside him, Vette shifted uncomfortably, her nervous energy seeming to buzz in the air around them. "So," she hesitated, before steeling herself to continue. "Who was that guy? I mean, aside from the clearly not totally stable guy who tried to kill you." She coughed.

Vasiliy scowled. He couldn't risk telling her anything. "He was no one, and you will speak of him to no one."

"But-"

"Vette, you will never bring this up again, do I make myself clear?" He wove the Force into his words, pushed them at her mind, lacing them into her thoughts as he spoke, planting seeds of terror and pain along with them. She had a strong mind, and her sanity would not be broken by the power of the suggestion, but he hoped it would be enough to sway her.

She looked confused and upset. "Fine," she said, voice wavering. "I'll drop it."

"Very good."

With that, he stood, and they made their way from the tomb.

It was dusk by the time they reached the academy, the sun sinking low on the horizon, casting a dim light over the spires of the building. Even so, the halls were bustling with people, acolytes and overseers alike buzzing with excitement as whispers flew from ear to ear. Vasiliy kept his head bowed, listening intently as they made their way through rooms and corridors to Baras's chambers, desperately hoping for news of the slave acolytes.

The overseers spoke in hushed tones, whispering excitedly to one another of a Lord Zash and her new apprentice. They spoke of a trial in the tomb of Naga Sadow, and of a secret chamber opened by an acolyte, and of a great beast, a Dashade, freed from within and bound in servitude. They mentioned no name, taking time only to scoff in disgust at the idea of a slave rising to such power, but it was enough for Vasiliy. There could be no doubt, Lyoshka had succeeded. It was no surprise to him, of course, and he felt a flourish of pride blossom in his chest.

When he entered Lord Baras's office, Vette trailing close behind him, it was with the knowledge that soon, everything would fall into place. He would have Lyoshka once again, and together they would seize unimaginable power.

They would be unstoppable.


End file.
